


Tangible Illusion

by apothekemilie



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anarietta is a WOMAN in CHARGE of her pleasure, F/M, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Infidelity, Loneliness, also im imaging joey, but you can imagine game dandelion if you like i guess, don't @me i want love them both, fic where jaskier is a fable from the land of a thousand fables and anarietta makes him a Real Boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:42:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25071820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apothekemilie/pseuds/apothekemilie
Summary: In times of loneliness or despair, Duchess Anna Henrietta would think of the Land of a Thousand fables. In particular, she thought about an unfamiliar fable about a musician who learned to love his own company.
Relationships: Anna Henrietta | Anarietta/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #003





	Tangible Illusion

_ If a song rings through the forest, and no one is there to hear it, did it really make a sound? What good is a song if there is no audience? Well, dear reader, the answer is within this story. _

_ Once upon a time, in a far away land, there was a musician. He had trained for years and years to be better at his craft than any other and had succeeded in doing so! But for all his talent, he never felt satisfied performing at courts and balls and banquets, where nobles and every kind of stuck up person would speak over his music or ignore his lyrics, no matter how funny or naughty they were. He felt alone and unheard. _

_ So this musician decided to run away from stately life to live among commoners, but even there he was not satisfied! They had the gall to throw rotten food at him or outright heckle him during a set, which simply could not stand! _

_ This was the way in which the musician found himself wandering the forests, playing for whatever creature he could. _

_ Now, while dogs and cats might make for fun pets, usually creatures of the wood don’t care terribly much for music, save for the birds, but birds are often wont to flit away if approached, so they cannot make for much company. _

_ As such, the musician found himself quite lonely in the woods. Who could listen to his music if the animals didn’t even care? He strummed his lute, whistled tunes, and worked out all manner of songs as he wandered and wondered and wondered and wandered. _

_ Much time passed in this way, and with every passing day, the musician grew lonelier and lonelier. But even for all of his loneliness, he never stopped playing his lute or singing his songs. _

_ One day, just as night began to fall and the musician was thinking of setting up camp, he noticed a flickering light in the distance. A fire is a representative of humans, a herald. And humanity can only lead to company. The musician ran as fast as his feet could carry him to this campsite where he met a woodcutter. _

_ “Hail and well met!” said the musician. “Would you like to hear a song? I’ve been looking for just the right audience and haven’t had anyone to play for in so very long!” _

_ The woodcutter hummed his ascent and gestured to the musician to find a place by the fire to sit and begin. _

_ Delighted to finally have some company, the musician played and sang his little heart out. When he had finished, there was a long silence. He waited for the woodcutter to clap or give some kind of indication of praise, but he was quiet. _

_ “Well?” asked the musician, quickly growing frustrated with his new friend. “What did you think of my music?” _

_ The woodcutter looked thoughtful for a moment and tilted his head to the side just slightly before speaking. _

_ “You gave words to the bird songs.” _

_ “What?” _

_ “Your songs. They’re what the birds sing all around these woods. You just gave them words.” _

_ “Well, dear woodcutter, I’m afraid to tell you that I have no idea what you’re talking about! I wrote all of these songs myself! I’ve been singing them through this forest for longer than I could say.” _

_ “Hm.” The woodcutter replied, and since this was not an argument, the musician had nothing to say in return, so the two sat in silence for the rest of the evening, as he grumpily plucked out a few more tunes on his instrument before turning in for the night. _

_ Before he fell asleep, the musician thought to himself that a woodcutter hardly counts as good company anyway. He would find better company later. _

_ And in the morning he was alone. The camp was empty as if no one had even been there, save for the musician. _

_ “Well, that’s for the best!” He said with a harumph as he dusted himself off and got ready to wander once more. _

_ But this time, as he wandered, the musician did not play. Instead he listened. He listened to the leaves blowing in the wind, to the water rushing down stream, to twigs crackling beneath his boots. _

_ He listened to the birds. _

_ They sang and sang and sang, and in their singing, the musician began to recognize his own tunes. The ones he had written himself so long ago. _

_ The birds echoed back the sounds he gave them. _

_ So the musician listened to their arrangements. He heard their songs, his songs, twittering and tweeting and sweet. _

_ He gave them those songs, and they as part of the universe, gave them back. And the musician loved them. He loved the birds, but more importantly, he loved his music. He loved hearing what he made. _

_ So as the day grew to a close, and the musician set up his fire for the evening, he played once more, and he listened. He listened to himself as he sang, to his lute as he played. _

_ And for once, the musician didn’t feel quite so alone. For how could he feel alone when surrounded by his own creation? _

_ So what good is a song without an audience, dear reader? Well, you see it is a trick question, because so long as someone is around to sing a song, there is an audience, even if it is an audience of one. _

* * *

Truth be told, the story of the lonely musician was not one of the most memorable fables out there, and Anarietta and Syanna had both looked to each other in confusion when they first met the musician in the magical world that Uncle Artorius had created for them. In fact, other than a few passing listens to his songs as they echoed through one of the lush forests, they had never played with him as children. One thousand fables was simply too many to search out and learn for a child.

It was only years later, not long after Syanna’s banishment, when Anarietta had thought of him again. The halls of the palace felt empty without her sister, and the guilt clawing at her heart only made the emptiness ache that much worse. It was not Anarietta’s fault alone that Syanna was punished, but she knew she should have done more.

Now she was alone, much like the musician from the story. Many times she thought of him and thought to go back to the Land of a Thousand Fables. Often she even went as far as to retrieve the delicate key to the bureau containing the book portal. Every time though, the thought of going somewhere so closely tied to memories of her sister proved too painful, and Anarietta convinced herself to stay put. 

So instead she chose to be like the musician. Even if she lacked the compositional talent to surround herself in music, she found another way to create. She took up the visual arts. She had even forged a back-and-forth tutelage relationship with a painter from Oxenfurt who was relatively up and coming in the field before the letters slowly came to a stop.

By that time however, now years later, Anarietta had found enough comfort in her duties and in the bonds she made with her people. Not long after, she was married, and she told herself that she could never be lonely with a husband at her side.

Well, that was a fucking lie. 

Raymund did little by way of companionship, and he just barely performed his husbandly duties. He didn’t even have the nerve to give her a child, not that Anarietta really wanted one anyway, but she imagined that maybe she would feel less alone then.

But no, instead he hauled himself away to Cintra for months on end to consort with some kind of hussy there, while Anarietta was left to mind the duchy herself in shame. 

Let two points be known, however.

  1. Anna Henrietta was a gracious duchess, and she thrived while ruling her domain. Her people loved her greatly and found her to be far preferable to her husband anyway.
  2. Anna Henrietta never once allowed her cheeks to publicly blossom red in either anger or embarrassment when word reached her of her husband’s unfaithful ways. Her people loved and sided with her in this matter, not him. 



This does not mean that she didn’t feel the sting of humiliation and the ache of being alone once more. It was as if she’d gone back in time to those months just after Syanna’s banishment, this time without the throbbing guilt at her breast, but great pangs of pain nonetheless.

Because of this, Anarietta found the strength to reclaim that key hidden behind the painting in her childhood play room. She clutched it as tight as she dared, given its fragile frame, and thrust herself back into the land of stories that comforted her as a child.

The land looked just as she remembered it. Lush, verdant forests surrounded her, and rainbows painted the sky. Anarietta meandered through the fantasy and quickly decided to change her wardrobe for the more adventurous. 

She found the little girl who once sold flint and was able to trade some of her finery for more comfortable clothes suited to travel. Gone were the puffy skirts and restricting sleeves, and in their place was a simpler, though lovely, pale blue frock with flowing sleeves, as well as a golden hood that shone with a muted gleam. While eye catching, it wasn’t an ostentatious look in the slightest. The only thing Anarietta kept was the tiara on her head, though it sat more simply upon her head, no longer woven through her typical stunning updo.

Anarietta attempted to reconnect with several of her noble peers in the illusion. It was clear that the magic was slowly losing stability, as Artorius had been gone for many a year now, and stories were slowly starting to go awry. One by one she found Cinderella, Briar Rose, Belle (of  _ La belle et le bête _ fame), the little mermaid, and Scheherazade, and was able to assist in one way or another to prevent any misfortune.

She tried to climb Longlocks’ hair herself, but the princess in the tower didn’t answer, so Anarietta sent a wandering prince her way.

The real trouble came in trying to find a prince for Snow White who was still encased in her crystalline coffin. The dwarves refused to think that a kiss from a dear friend could count as one of true love, so she was sent away to find a man.

It was in this way that she found the lonely musician in the woods . Or, rather, she heard him, then found him. His music resounded sweetly on the breeze, with a reverberation that clearly wasn’t natural but enticing all the same.

While not one much for singing, Anarietta announced herself to the musician with a whistle, something she found she was much better at.

He sat atop a large rock nestled at the bottom of a shallow valley, dressed in lovely blues and greens. Without looking to her and never ceasing his playing, the musician called out, the smile on his face audible.

“My, my, that doesn’t sound like any kind of bird I know. Who could that be that echoes my songs in a whistle?”

Anarietta descended to the rock and stopped herself. This was a fable she’d thought of so often in the years since Syanna’s departure, yet she had no true memory of knowing him. He did not know her as a child, so he would not recognize her.

“I am Anna Henrietta, sweet musician,” She replied, and before she could continue, he interrupted, looking over his shoulder before scooting around properly to face his audience.

“Ah, yes! Princess Anna Henrietta. The birds speak quite fondly of you.” Beyond the smile in his eyes, Anarietta found a gleam of instability. The loss of magical maintenance was affecting him, too.

“Duchess now, actually. And, well, the birds?” She asked as the musician hauled himself from his perch. “Forgive me, as your story isn’t one overly familiar to me, but I don’t recall you speaking to birds.”

“Oh, well, yes… After so long of them listening to my songs, I decided to listen back to theirs! And not just their plagiarisms of my work!” With a flourish of a gesture, the musician placed his hand on the small of Anarietta’s back and began to usher her from the valley. “But we’ve moved past that, the birds and I. We talk all the time now, which is why I knew your whistles weren’t that of my feathered friends.” He chuckled softly. “No, your whistles, while lovely, my sweet, your whistles remind me more of...hm.” The musician tapped a finger to his chin in thought, as a tiny slip of pink pressed just passed his lips.

“You remind me of a weasel!”

“A weasel?” Anarietta gasped with an indignant huff as she removed herself from the musician’s gentle grasp.

“Why yes, Duchess! A weasel! Have you not met one? They chirp and make darling little sounds that are an awful lot like your whistles!”

Well that certainly wasn’t a compliment to her musical ability, but the earnest look in his eyes was rather endearing, and Anarietta couldn’t help but laugh softly at the notion. Really, everything about the man was endearing, despite (or maybe in part due to?) his very slightly mad outlook on their world.

Thus the two traveled through the glen for the next short while, looking for another wandering prince to send off to Snow White. More than once along the way, the musician broke out into song or made some kind of quip that left Anarietta in a fit of giggles. 

After finding a suitor for the sleeping princess, the pair settled down at the musician’s camp for a while. It was decorated with an ornate blanket, upon which several pillows were thrown. Flowers grew abnormally large blossoms all around the space.

“Musician, do you have a name?” Anarietta asked as her companion saw to setting a kettle to boil over the ever burning fire. “As I recall, you aren’t given one in your story.”

The musician hummed thoughtfully for a moment. “You know, I don’t, my weasel. Would you like to give me one? This is your world, after all.”

“Ah… I could. Let’s see…” The duchess eyed him carefully, watching his movements as if they could spell out a name to her. “Hm… Alfred? No. Julian?”

At both suggestions, the musician wrinkled his nose and stuck out his tongue playfully. “No, I think not. Keep trying though! You’ll think of something.”

“Of course...” Anarietta replied, a trace of doubt in her tone. She had liked Julian.

As the musician finished setting the tea to steep in a charmingly colorful teapot, he plopped himself, lute in hand, beside the duchess who had plucked a comically large dandelion from the earth.

“I shall wish for a good name to come to me.” She said, raising the flower ceremoniously above her head before gathering all the breath she could muster into her lungs and blowing its fluffy whiteness to the wind.

The musician watched with rapt attention, and as the final tuft was sent on its way, he smiled wide and sweet.

“Why my dearest weasel, you’ve done it! Like the seeds of that flower, you’ve blown me away! I shall be your Dandelion!”

“Dandelion?”

“Yes, your bard Dandelion! Oh do please call me by this name, my dearest duchess!”

“If this is what you would like, then I will gladly name you as such.” Anarietta rose to her knees and turned to face the bard. “Let us make this official, and please bow your head to me.”

He turned about face to the duchess and did as he was asked. In kind, Anarietta gently tapped the empty dandelion stem to each of his shoulders.

“We, Anna Henrietta, Her Enlightened Ladyship, Duchess of Toussaint dub thee Dandelion the Bard. Viscount of the Land of a Thousand Fables and true friend to the crown of Toussaint.”

“Oooh, a viscount, you say?” Dandelion questioned with a smirk as he looked up to Anarietta. “I don’t know if I’m the noble type.”

“Nonsense!” She replied, gracefully lowering herself back down to a seated position. “Any who hope to earn my favor as you have are of noble enough stock to me.”

“Well, then! I’m honored by the title! As well as the name.” Dandelion said contentedly, leaning softly against her side as he strummed his instrument.

Thus the friendship between Anarietta and Dandelion blossomed. While time passed slowly outside of the illusion, the two would spend days together, only for a few minutes to have passed in Toussaint. Upon each departure, Dandelion would take his weasel’s hand and kiss it farewell, and each time Anarietta would fight back the redness that dusted her cheeks and ears. 

Upon nearly every return, Anna Henrietta would receive word from Cintra. More news of the duke’s infidelity wrapped in pretty parchment and a silver seal.

It made her want to vomit. 

The breaking point was when word of a potential bastard reached Toussaint. The woman entertaining her husband was apparently with child, though given the fact that she was already participating in extramarital affairs, who could know the paternity of the brat.

The letter, silver seal and all, was crushed in the duchess’s vice grip, and she made the decision to cast aside her crown for the day. She was going to be selfish if her good-for-nothing husband was going to act so infuriatingly and recklessly.

Anarietta heard whispers in her halls.

Her people loved her. They respected her.

However, great love and respect does not make one impervious to pity.

And Anarietta heard their pity. 

_ “Such a shame…”  _

_ “Her poor magnificence…”  _

_ “He acts so brazenly, to leave his wife so alone…”  _

_ “She should…” _

_ “Why does she not…” _

Anarietta locked herself away. She had no tears to cry for an unscrupulous cad like her husband, yet salty tracks marched down her cheeks regardless. 

It was so idiotic to be upset like this! More importantly though, Anarietta refused to allow any of her subjects to see their duchess so downtrodden and defeated. She shuddered at the thought, and with muffled hiccuping sobs, Ana dove back into the Land of a Thousand Fables, even if she had only just left.

Finding Dandelion’s glen was never hard anymore. Her trek through the forest to his campsite was a path well memorized by now, and it wasn’t even until she had plopped down by the fire that she realized she hadn’t even bothered to change into her more common clothing before finding him. She was sitting on a pillow in one of her finest dresses with ruddy cheeks and drying tear tracks, and Dandelion wasn’t far away, given the fact that he was at her side not a moment after her realization.

“Weasel? What happened? Speak to me.” The concern in his voice was palpable, and it ensnared Anarietta, coddling her as tears sprung fresh all over the bard’s doublet.

He patiently allowed her to cry out her sorrows, not once moving to grab his instrument, as he was typically wont to do. Instead he gently stroked her hair, fingering the fine metal pin that helped keep her crown in place.

When a sufficient enough amount of time had passed, and Anarietta trusted her voice not to falter or betray her sorry state, she spoke. “The duke.”

Dandelion lifted her face to meet his and searched her glossy reddened eyes while his thumbs lovingly wiped away the wetness on her cheeks. His weasel did not speak of her husband, the duke, and when Dandelion had tried to ask before, he was snappily shut down. Even playful prying didn’t help.

“Tell me.”

And the story poured forth. The unhappy but livable marriage which turned shameful and embarrassing upon his flight to Cintra. The bastard. The whispers.

Anarietta clutched tightly to Dandelion’s wrists where he still held her face.

“I hate him for the shame he has brought upon me. Upon my domain. I do not wish for him to ever return, Dandelion. I wish for a better husband. Or no husband at all! The throne belongs to my family, so why should I have to suffer his extramarital tortures? I could rule alone or marry whomever I would so wish. Keep concubines and lovers all my own.”

“Well why don’t you?”

“What?”

“Why don’t you? If your no-good husband can hide his sausage in other pantries, why don’t you find a better butcher? Or butchers? Or keep some secret meats stashed away?”

Anarietta quirked a brow but could not help the laughter that bubbled from her throat. “Secret meats? Dandelion, I have no love for my husband, but there is no man in Toussaint that I would trust in such a way.”

Dandelion squeezed her hands. “Then don’t look in Toussaint. Try another place. Another county. Or...viscounty?” His blue eyes never left hers, even as they narrowed in what almost looked like anger.

“Dandelion, you go too far…” But even she did not believe her words.

“Anna Henrietta, I will never press this matter, and if you wish it, I will never speak of it again.” One of his hands left her face to cup gently just behind her neck. “But you are unhappy, and I have no greater wish in this world than fix that. I was created for you. I am the strange musician who needed to learn to be okay alone, yes, but at the end of the day, I’m nothing more than an illusion brought about by magic to keep you happy.”

“Dandelion…” She blinked back tears which had come anew. In his eyes was the most loving devotion she could imagine. With just the slightest falter, Anarietta swept back the bangs on Dandelion’s forehead. “You do make me happy.” He leaned in just slightly. “You make me happier than anything else.”

Anarietta closed the gap and allowed herself to melt into an illusion’s kiss. 

From then on, their rendezvous were far more amorous than friendly, and in very little time, Anarietta decided that if she was going to have her Dandelion fully and completely, it would not be on a pillow on some grass. No, she would have him properly and in a bed. This is what proved a problem though, as all of the beds in the Land of a Thousand Fables either had occupants or recent enough occupants whose fates were too unfortunate to disassociate from the furniture. That is, Anarietta refused to make love in a bed wherein a wolf ate an elderly woman and was later sliced open.

In this way, she began to brainstorm a way to bring her bard to her own world, which led her eventually to the key.

“How does this work now?” Dandelion asked her, eyeing the delicate little thing, strung up on a chain with a lovely little bauble that had fallen from one of her many pieces of jewelry. She didn’t care enough to repair the piece, but it was too pretty to part with. As such, it was a fine enough gift to Dandelion when paired with the key.

“This unlocks the illusion.” Anarietta explained as she unclasped the necklace chain to put around Dandelion’s throat. “While we are in a world made of pure magic, this key is both tangible and made in part by the same magic that made you. If you keep this on your person, it will keep you tangible in my realm. I can bring you back to the palace and keep you there.”

“Will I be able to come back here?”

“Would you want to?”

“I don’t know, really.”

“Then we will cross that road when the time comes.”

With hands clasped firmly, Anarietta led her musician out of the illusion, each one of the pair squeezing especially tight as Dandelion was led into the light of Toussaint, to the hidden away nook where she and Syanna used to hide from their governess. No one would see them there.

Once all feet were firmly on solid, real earth, they stood silent and still for longer than either would care to admit, too nervous to speak for fear it might break the magic.

“How do you feel?” Anarietta eventually asked, refusing to release her bard’s hand.

Dandelion breathed slowly and with purpose, closed his eyes, squeezed her hands, and wiggled his toes in his boots. “The...same? But also,” He clicked his tongue. “Clearer? You know how the magic inside the book was starting to go...off? Here, it’s as though a fog was lifted.” 

“So you feel fully aware and in command of all of your faculties?” Anarietta probed, not allowing herself to smile too wide just yet. 

With the duchess’ hand still in his own, Dandelion looked down at his body, rolled his shoulders, lifted each leg and tentatively set it back down.

“I believe so, my weasel. Why?”

“Well, my sweet Dandelion, if that’s the case,” She stroked his cheek with a gloved hand and kissed him hard. “I think we should test just how tangible we’ve really made you.” 

“Oh! Oh, uh…” Dandelion flushed a delicious crimson and did his best on a spluttering reply. “Yes! Absolutely yes. That is a thing we should absolutely go and do now, yes. Yes please, your grace.”

The trip to the royal chambers was an easy enough one to make without anyone noticing the pair. Given the news the duchess had received earlier in the day, no one expected to see Anna Henrietta any time soon, so she imagined they would not be disturbed in for quite a while. This gave them ample time to discover themselves in their lover’s body.

As the pair lay entwined together, post exploit (after exploit after exploit), Dandelion threaded his fingers through Anarietta’s curls, humming softly, while she traced shapes and patterns into his chest, thoroughly adoring the ample hair there. On his chest sat the key and chain. She was so happy to have been right about the methodology of bringing her musician to the real world.

“My Dandelion, I think I shall keep you here at my side for all time.” She tapped the key. “So long as you have this, you can live out here just as you did in the illusion.”

Dandelion hummed softly and shut his eyes. The fingers playing with Anarietta’s hair slid to her ears where he toyed with the dangling crystals posted in soft lobes. 

“I would like nothing more, dearest weasel.” A pause. “Tell me, do things change here? The Land of a Thousand Fables was always stagnant until the maintenance faltered, but even then...those changes weren’t entirely welcome, just a steady decline.

“As a figment of imagination, born of the idea of a man, I feel I should know change, and I do. In my head and heart. I know what I should expect of the world. Seasons, death, new life, invention, philosophical and technological advancements… But I’ve never known any of these things, not truly. The closest I’ve come to change, I would imagine, is you. You came to my world as a child, albeit one I never truly knew, but left and returned as the stunning woman you are now.

“That seems to be quite the adventure, to grow and change. I think I should like that…” He drifted off, hummed softly, then pressed a kiss to the top of Anarietta’s head. “And I should like to experience it with you.”

She sighed contentedly in reply. “I should like that, too… Here is Toussaint, you will most assuredly experience all manner of changes. It is autumn presently, and you will see leaves changing soon. Not long after, we can share the winter together as well. Then spring, summer, and autumn again. Round and round…” Anarietta then thought for a moment. “Although, my sweet… Now that I think on it, I couldn’t say for certain if...you will be able to grow. Or, grow old, that is.” She trailed a hand back to the key. “The magic that made you, created you as a grown man and did not change you in...years. The same magic brought you here, so… I don’t know if you are capable of aging.”

Dandelion was silent.

“Oh, but don’t despair! You know, time is one of the most coveted prizes of all time. You should be the envy of the world, ageless and wonderful, Dandelion.”

“I suppose...time, at least, gives me the opportunity to experience more.”

“Yes!”

“And even if I will not age, I can still be an audience to it. Appreciate the beauty in the wisdom that comes with years and time and change.”

“Exactly. Now, let’s not talk too much of growing old while I still have my youth and so many youthful wonders to delight in. Shall we?”

“Oh, why yes, my darling,” Dandelion smiled wide as he rolled to pin Anarietta beneath him. “I think that is a fantastic idea.” He leaned down and captured the duchess’ mouth with his own, humming a soft approval into her lips as one of her legs looped around his bare hips, drawing him all the closer.

They had only just barely begun to avail themselves to visceral pleasures once more, when a knock sounded through the chamber. Anarietta froze, fingers tense against Dandelion’s side as panic doused her. The door was locked, which was a small comfort.

“What is it?” She called, panic quickly turning to frustration. 

A mousy little voice sounded through the thick wood of the door. “Your magnificence, dinner will be served shortly. Shall I bring you a platter, or will you dine at the ducal table?”

She thought for a moment. Unless dreadfully ill, Anarietta never missed a meal with her court. The dining table was a place of joy, and she was its crown jewel. It was her place to dine with her court, shame be damned.

And at this point, Anarietta realized, she had nothing to be ashamed of. Her husband’s sins were his own, and she had no reason to shy away from the public because of him. She was her own woman, the only audience who mattered, and she was master of her own joy. And her joy was in her people and in Dandelion. There was no need to hide that, especially since her husband’s indiscretion had been so...indiscrete. 

“We will be down shortly.” She called, clear and proud. 

The servant at the door likely imagined the duchess was using the majestic plural, but when Anna Henrietta and Dandelion descended to the dining hall, arm in arm, within the hour, no one’s gaze lingered on the handsome guest. He was welcomed as a friend and guest, and met with polite conversation.

When asked of his origins, Anarietta, with a wicked grin, claimed him as Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, a made up place. While Dandelion concealed his baulking rather masterfully, Anarietta was pleased that no one even thought to try and imagine Lettenhove’s place on a map. She also went on to explain that he was Oxenfurt trained and was now touring the continent under the stage name Dandelion.

As dinner concluded, one of the ladies in waiting sheepishly asked if the great bard Dandelion might entertain for a short while, which was met quite happily by the musician himself. The duchess requested a lute for him to play, as well as snuck in a request to the luthier for as fine an instrument as could be crafted, to be delivered upon a later date.

In this way the evening, and many of the following evenings passed.

Anna Henrietta enjoyed her ducal responsibilities daily, while Dandelion wandered Beauclair and learned many of the charming notions of this new world. As the days closed, they would reconvene, discuss their discoveries, and enjoy each other’s company, physical and otherwise.

When word eventually reached Cintra about the beloved guest of Toussaint’s royal family, the duke flew into a rage and made his way south as quickly as he could.

The messenger who delivered this news to Anarietta was hastily dismissed, and Dandelion was summoned. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and spoke quickly.

“It would seem as though our time in the palace has been cut short. I shall furnish you with a home in the countryside, my darling. It should not take long, but I will keep you safe from my husband’s rage.”

“Darling weasel,” Dandelion replied. “Do not worry yourself with such things, not now. I would never risk your safety by staying near when that scoundrel of a duke is near.

“I’ve thought about what I could do when the day came for his return, and I realized I might like to...return to my roots, as it were. This is as fine a place as any, and the audience of your court was lovely, but it would be nice to wander among the common folk and in nature once more. To see and experience more.”

As much as the thought of losing her bard stung, Anarietta knew this would likely be for the best. She could not hold fast to her lover if he wanted to fly. “If this is your request, I will have a horse ready with all that you might need. Where will you go?”

“I am not sure, to be honest. Maybe the edge of the world? See where I can go from there? The coasts? This land is so big, my dear, and I’ve just barely scratched its surface.”

She placed her palm on his chest, just above where the key sat.

“Stay safe. Not everywhere is like Toussaint.” A pause. “I will miss you, dearly.”

Dandelion held Anarietta’s hands tight in his own. “I’m so sorry to have to leave you like this. Please, please know that even if I’m far away, you’re never alone.”

She bit back a tear, pressed a kiss to her bard’s lips then his cheek before whispering in the shell of his ear. “Go. Find an adventure out there. Even with your audience of one, you may yet still find a woodcutter to keep as extra company.”

With eyes closed, Anarietta felt him kiss each lid and slip his hands from their grasp. By the time she looked again, Dandelion was gone.

But Anarietta would never feel alone again.

**Author's Note:**

> hoo boy i cant believe i did this. i hope yall like it! i might write a smut for it later where anarietta clumsily wonders if dandelion, as an illusion, even has anything down there or if maybe its smooth like a ken doll or maybe even wind chimes, but who knows lmfao.


End file.
